Tracks
by LoneTread
Summary: The brothers discover there's always truth behind the legends. And in this case, it's deadly. R&R.
1. The Dare

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural_. As for the ghost story: it did supposedly happen, similarly to how it's outlined in chapter one (I made minor alterations, and anything not mentioned in chapter one is my own addition). I'm not making any money off this, so don't sue, please – I still have to pay for college.

---

**Prologue: The Dare**

_San Antonio, Texas _

"Okay, Mark," Kathleen Stanton said to her brother. "We've been leaving you alone, since it's your birthday, but you're the only one who hasn't had a turn yet. So – truth or dare?"

Mark sighed. He still couldn't believe his mother had made him invite his annoying little sister to his seventeenth birthday party, but she had nonetheless. And it was Kathy's fault they'd ended up playing Truth or Dare in the first place. Now it was starting to get late, and he was eager to end the game. He gave his sister a confident grin and replied, "Dare."

The boys all looked interestedly at Kathy as she grew thoughtful. This had to be the best dare yet – after all, it was his birthday. But Kathy, it seemed, had run out of ideas.

Trying not to appear too anxious, Mark waited for someone to suggest something. Finally, José offered, "I know! You've got your license – how about you drive down to the railroad tracks and see if the stories are true."

"That's all?" asked Mark, surprised. _Where's the catch?_ he wondered. "They're just little kids, José."

"Ah, just go do it," José responded. Clearly, Mark wasn't the only one bored with the game. Ethan seconded the idea – "yeah, go, man!" – and soon a chorus of voices rose in agreement.

"Whatever," Mark said, going to get his keys. He wasn't going to fight this – he was getting off easy and he knew it.

So they got Mrs. Stanton's permission, piled into her minivan, and set off. In minutes, they arrived at their destination.

Mark edged the car onto the tracks nervously. _These tracks have been abandoned for years_, he thought to himself. _There's no such thing as ghosts. And even if there were, these are nice ghosts. Nothing to worry about._ Still, the idea sounded a lot less appealing out here in the growing darkness.

Willing himself to not be afraid, he shifted the car into neutral.

With Kathy in the passenger seat beside him and his friends in the back, all still and silent, he waited.

And the car began to move.

"Whoa!" José whispered, sounding awed. He turned to his best friend, the stunned teen in the driver's seat. "You didn't do that, didja?"

Wordlessly, Mark shook his head.

After a second or two of astonished silence, someone thought to look for the handprints, the sign of the ghosts' presence that, according to the story, would surely adorn the car. Skepticism turned to belief now, everyone rushed from the car. As Mark put the car in park, he heard gasps, muffled exclamations, and incredulous laughs of triumph.

Amazed once more, he turned the key in the ignition, cutting the engine swiftly, and then moved to get out. He had to see this with his own eyes.

What he saw, instead, was a woman. The bloodshot eyes peering out from her pale face bored into his own. He began to shake.

"You could have hurt someone," she stated simply. Mark sat speechless; he didn't know what to say, what to think.

But he knew to scream when her hand reached for him. His yell was cut off as she found his throat, and, by the time his confused and terrified companions reached him, he lay slumped over the steering wheel, glassy eyes staring at where the woman had been.


	2. The Call

**Chapter One: The Call**

Sam groaned, half-asleep, and wearily opened his eyes. For once, he'd actually been getting some rest, and now here was Dean's phone, blaring its digital little tune into the sleepy air just because he'd gotten a text message.

Sam sighed and forced himself to get up and stumble to the phone, as it didn't look like his brother was going to budge any time soon.

His bleary eyes took one look at the message and Sam was instantly alert.

"Dean," he said loudly; when his brother looked tiredly up at him, he held the phone up for him to see and continued, "it's from Dad."

Dean, too, awakened in a second. "What's it say?"

"Just coordinates again."

Dean's reply sounded almost defeated. "Oh. Right."

The two looked at each other. Both knew there would be no arguments this time, that they had to go, had to do what they could – whether or not it tore them up inside.

Doing his best to push thoughts of their father from his mind, Sam turned again to the message. "So," he asked, "any idea where 29 degrees, 25 minutes North – ?"

"Definitely, Sammy. I know that off the top of my head," Dean interrupted him with a laugh, shaking his head.

"To the library, then?" the query came.

Dean got to his feet. "To the library."

---

A little while later, the Winchester brothers could be found sitting at two of the computers in the nearest public library, absorbed in their research.

A quick Internet search had yielded the city positioned at these newest coordinates – San Antonio, Texas. Now Sam and Dean were digging into news from the area, intent on locating whatever it was that was mysterious about the place.

Finally, their persistence paid off.

"Hey, check this out." Sam turned to his brother, a news article open on the computer screen in front of him. "Apparently, a teenager – Mark Stanton – was found dead in San Antonio the other day."

Dean looked over at him. "How'd he die?"

Sam's eyes scanned the article. "M.E.'s saying he was strangled. 'According to authorities,'" he read, "'there was evidence of a struggle', but, get this, the only DNA they've found is that of the victim. There's _nothing _on the assailant. Like they weren't even there."

"Not there, huh? Yeah, I'd say that's worth looking into. How far are we from there?"

---

Sam and Dean arrived in San Antonio and, forged police badges in hand, went looking for answers.

The first thing they found was the crime scene; it wasn't difficult – the police tape was everywhere. From there they were able to get more information than the article had given – including directions to the Stantons'.

When they got there, Dean knocked on the door. It opened after a moment, and a young girl stood before them.

"Hello," Dean said authoritatively. "I'm Dean, this is Sam, and we're with the San Antonio police." He presented his badge as proof. "Mind if we come in?"

"Uh, sure, sure," she responded, nodding.

Soon, they were all seated in the Stantons' living room. "So, you're Kathleen, right?" asked Sam.

"Yeah. Kathy. I guess you're here to talk about Mark?" At Dean's nod, Kathy continued, "Well, I don't really know much. I didn't see what happened—"

"How about you tell us what you _do _know, okay? Why were you there in the first place?"

"It – it was his birthday, you know. He was turning seventeen. So, we were at his birthday party and we were playing Truth or Dare. I suggested it." She bit her lip, looking like she felt incredibly guilty about that. "So José dares Mark to go down to those old railroad tracks. I never believed the stories, not since I was little, but now—"

She swallowed, and Dean took the opportunity to voice his question: "Stories? What stories?"

"Oh," Kathy said, shrugging, "I guess I just think everyone's heard them before. It's an urban legend that goes around school. A school bus broke down on those train tracks, once, if you believe the rumors. The train came, and the bus driver didn't get the kids out of the bus in time. Lots of kids died, and now everybody says that their ghosts haunt the place, and whenever somebody stops on the tracks, they'll push the car off. So no one else dies, y'know. Then you can see the handprints on the back of the car – little kid handprints. From the ghosts." She paused suddenly, and looked up at the two young men. "I bet you think I'm crazy, but it's true. I saw it."

"You did?" Sam looked intrigued. "What did you see, exactly?"

"Well, we were on the train tracks, and all of a sudden, the car was moving. I was in the passenger seat, so I could see pretty good, and as far as I could tell, Mark wasn't doing a thing. So, we get out to look for the handprints, of course." Kathy nodded to emphasize her statement, then added, "Evidence. That's what we were looking for. We found it, too. But as we're looking at the handprints, we heard Mark, yelling – he'd stayed to turn off the car. We heard him yelling, and we thought he was joking, trying to mess with our heads. And when we finally got over there, we couldn't do anything…." She trailed off, swallowing again and turning away. "I just want to know what happened to him."

"We'll do whatever we can," Sam assured her.

He stood to leave, and Dean followed suit. "Thanks," Dean said, "you've been a big help."

"I hope so," she replied.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry if I recapped the prologue too much; I tried not to, but I'm not sure it worked. Also, to anyone who's heard the ghost story before: if I have any aspects of it wrong, I'd like to know ASAP so I can rework anything I need to before the next chapter. Thanks.


	3. The Answer

**Chapter Two: The Answer**

As the pair walked back to their car, Dean looked over at his brother. "So they went to _find_ ghosts and then the kid got himself killed by one."

"Yeah," replied Sam, "but I really doubt the little kids were what killed him."

"Good. Then we're on the same page," Dean responded. "Question is, what did it?"

Sam grew thoughtful, then answered, "You think…the driver, maybe?"

Dean considered it, then shook his head. "From what Kathy said, it sounded like he survived. But I don't know who else…." He got in the car and started it, looking pensive. "Wait a minute…."

Sam buckled his seatbelt. "What is it?" he asked.

"We're agreed that an adult's probably to blame for this, right?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"And," Dean continued, "aside from the bus driver, what adult…?" He trailed off, and watched as understanding filled his brother's expression.

"The parents."

Dean pulled out of the Stantons' driveway and nodded. "That's my best guess. It's a place to start, anyway."

---

A few minutes later, Sam and Dean were once again at the library, determined to find out what they were up against. This time they were looking through old local papers, having reasoned that in order for the school bus accident to have gone from fact to urban legend it would have had to have been a very old story.

After a long while of painstaking searching, Sam called to Dean in a whisper, sounding triumphant. "Dean! Found it!"

Dean's head shot up and he turned to his brother excitedly. "Really? You see anything about the parents?"

"No," Sam said, frowning and shaking his head in frustration. "Doesn't even give us the kids' names. I think we're just gonna have to go out there and hope we know what we're up against."

Dean had gotten up and was scanning the paper over Sam's shoulder. "Hey," he said, "I've got an idea. The article may not tell us names, but I bet the obits do."

He was soon proven correct, and both eagerly scanned the next few issues of the paper for any of the children's last names. It wasn't long before they found what they were looking for.

"'Marianne Chisholm, mother of one of the students killed in the school bus accident last week, was found shot in her home Tuesday. Police say it was clearly a suicide due to the tragedy…,'" Dean read. He turned to Sam. "Yeah, this is it."

"But why would she kill a teenager decades after this all happened? It doesn't make any sense," Sam argued reasonably. "What, was he related to the bus driver or something?"

"No, it looks like she was pretty vocal trying to get the driver arrested, before she died. When he got off because the whole thing _was _an accident – walked away scot-free even though she was convinced he'd put the kids in danger – she couldn't take it, I guess. And Mark Stanton…" He paused, and Sam could almost see the wheels turning in his head. "This time, Mark Stanton was the driver."

"Makes sense," Sam replied. "But if it's been this long, and all you have to do to make yourself a target is drive onto those tracks – people here do that all the time. Why hasn't this happened before?"

Dean shrugged. "You got me on that one. I have no idea."

"Maybe," Sam said slowly as an idea began forming in his head, "it has." He turned from Dean and sat down at a nearby computer. A quick search later he continued, "Look. A teenager, found dead in her home. Apparently strangled, but the killer was never found." He paused to click another link. "And this one: a college student, strangled in his dorm, no leads at all. And I bet we'd find more, if we were to feel like digging back through all that." He pointed to the old papers. "What if she only kills people once they're alone? Maybe she doesn't want to subject the passengers to it or something, who knows. But I bet Mark isn't the first person to die here because of this – just the first to be killed around the tracks themselves."

"Good thinking," was Dean's response. For a moment, he considered the implications of this, then continued, frowning, "Alright, now we know what we're up against. Probably, we can kill it just like any other spirit. Piece of cake."

"But who's going to kill it? It's gotta be just one of us." That was Sam. Ever-reasonable. Always wanting the nice, clear, well-formed plan.

So his brother smirked and gave it to him. "I am. After all, she goes after the driver. And no way am I letting you drive." He pulled the Impala's keys from his pocket and twirled them lazily around his finger as he walked out the door and headed to his beloved car.

Sam rolled his eyes and followed.


End file.
